


When The Dust Settles And The Tears Fall

by HobblyWobbly



Series: Therefore You and Me [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Love Confessions, M/M, Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues, idk what else to put here i was just starved for content, lowkey body dysphoria, thats right baby wol is trans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23038030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HobblyWobbly/pseuds/HobblyWobbly
Summary: “May I…?”Set after the battle against Hades, the Warrior of Darkness and the Exarch have a long-overdue talk.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Original Character(s), G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Series: Therefore You and Me [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980121
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	When The Dust Settles And The Tears Fall

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this is just another self-indulgent fic of my oc Mikta and Gwaha Tia  
> i also have a twitter now! so feel free to say hi!
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/H0bblyW0bbly)

The door to the Ocular creaks open causing an ear to perk up, but otherwise, Mikta stays curled up atop the stairs, tail wrapped around his ankles, his right eye trained on the intricate floor designs. Footsteps make their way towards him. There’s a blur of motion to his right, a soft grunt, the _clink_ of a staff being laid on the tile.

“The Scions have been searching for you all night.” The Exarch breaks the silence after some time has passed. “If it wasn’t for Ryne, Thancred would have been causing a panic amongst the citizens in his own mission to find out where you had disappeared.”

“Are you going to tell them I’m here..?” Mikta’s voice is soft, throat hoarse from screaming so much in the battle previous, curling more in on himself.

“For now, I think not.” He hums, peering over at Mikta, an ear perking up curiously when Mikta won’t stop staring. “Is there something the matter? Something on my face?” His obliviousness would have been endearing if Mikta was in any other mood than this. Instead of answering, the Warrior just turns away, going back to staring at the floor. “...you sent us all in panic when we found you passed out in the Rotunda surrounded by your blood.”

“I don’t even remember getting hit...” Mikta mutters, reaching up to hover his hand over the bandages. “I just...a child was speaking to me atop the Aetheryte Plaza and then...and then I remember thinking I had to get back to everyone and...and then I woke up in the Spagyrics with Chessamile speaking to Y’shtola and Urianger about my state.”

 _“You’re truly lucky the wound didn’t take away your sight. Any deeper and you would be blind in your left eye. It will, however, leave a scar.”_ Chessamile had told him when she realized Mikta was awake, letting him know of his current state. _“Other than some bruised bones and scratches you are otherwise lucky. That sort of battle would have- should have killed you. I have already prepared a couple of tonics for you to take and medicines which will help your recovery- wait, where are you going?”_ And then, after grabbing his grimoire, he left for the one place he knew no one would think he’d hide.

“How did you know I would be here?” Mikta glances over at the Exarch again. His eyes move downwards to the robes hiding the bandages wrapped around his torso where he had been shot. “Is it wise for you to be moving around in this state.”

“I’m unsure.” The Exarch shrugs. “If Lyna sees me moving around she will most likely tie me to a chair and force me to rest, but I can’t sit still knowing there are still things to be taken care of. Knowing that you are in distress and it is my fault.” Their eyes meet and Mikta stills. He still couldn’t believe that this was real. That he was _right there_ beside him as if no time had passed at all. In his mind, the Crystal Exarch and G’raha Tia were still two completely different people and, perhaps, they might never be the same. Time in the Ocular is imperceptible and, in a way, it feels like the two are in their own world completely excluded from the outside.

“May I…?” The question is just barely a whisper but Mikta hears it anyways and nods. His eye flutters shut and the Exarch carefully undoes the bandages until they fall to the floor. The scar rests along his left eye, a pink line starting above the eyebrow, running over the closed eyelid, and ending roughly over the miqo markings imprinted by his nose. The Exarch reaches out to brush his fingers over the scar then hesitates. “Perhaps this is going too far. I wouldn’t want to disturb the wound or-” his nervous rambles are caught off as Mikta leans trustingly into his touch, his fingers running over the curve of his cheekbone, oh so gently tracing over the fresh scar.

“I hate it.” Mikta whispers, voice echoing off the star sketched walls. The Exarch scoots closer until their knees are touching. His hand moves from Mikta’s cheek up to his hairline, brushing through the soft strands. Mikta finds himself leaning more into the gentle hand, trying to savor the affection before it went away. Just like every good thing in his life does. “My body is soft, and frail, my hips too wide, my stomach too round. Other adventurers, however, have hard edges and muscle from past battles. ‘Tis why I have always wished to have scars because at least then I could be a proper warrior. _Warriors_ have scars that tell of their brave battles and inspire the people they protect. I have gone through enough battles to last countless lifetimes and yet there are scarely any scars to show for it. People doubt my abilities. I can see their faces droop when they discover that I’m the Warrior of Light. That _I’m_ supposedly their savior. Just some small orphaned Miqo'te from Grdiania who wouldn't know how to wield a sword even if it meant his life. And yet the scar that stays is the one I hate. The one battle I wish I could forget. And I worry- I worry that perhaps I may not live up to the expectations you have for me. Of the memories you have kept of me. And this scar- this scar reminds me of how I almost lost you _again_ and that it was my _fault._ ”

The Exarch sits in thought as his hand trails back down to cup Mikta’s cheek. The crystal that has become one with his arm is warm. Periodically Mikta can feel the throb of a pulse underneath the crystal, a pulse that no longer exists and is now that of aether coursing through what had once been his veins. His eyes slowly open and he takes in the face of the man who had been hidden under a cowl just hours earlier. _His braid is undone..._ Mikta thinks, reaching out to brush through the vibrant, unruly strands, watching as they slipped out of his fingers to settle back over his shoulders. 

Mikta remembers running his fingers through similar hair years ago inside a dimly lit tent, those same pair of spirited eyes watching with a content smile, no sooner breaking into a playful grin as he rolls them over, the world outside their shelter just a distant memory.

_“You’re insufferable.” Mikta had breathed. The lanterns in the tent had long since begun to burn out and outside the other researchers slept to conserve their energy for their next venture into the Tower. G’raha laughed and dipped his head to brush their noses together, their lips ghosting over each other but just as Mikta began leaning forward, G’raha pulled away. Tease. Under the thin blanket they shared, their tails lay curled together, a hand tracing nonsensical shapes along Mikta’s bare thigh._

_“I know.” G’raha murmured his voice a low purr that sent chills down Mikta’s spine, that same cocky grin not leaving his lips, leaning down once more to bring their lips together. “And that, my dear hero, is why you love me.”_

Back then he was young and optimistic and oh _so_ very foolish. Back then, in that small encampment, the world felt smaller. The only thing that mattered was the company he shared; it was the first time he had felt like he had a home away from home. And that night when G’raha took him atop Rathefrost beneath the expanse of stars that were scattered across the night sky above he didn’t feel like a hero. That night he was just another person. Raha sang for him then- everything from traditional songs from his family and the tribe he grew up in to the tavern songs from across the world he had picked up on from his adventures before joining NOAH. It was then when G’raha bared his soul to him, the two laid back atop the grass, sharing one too many kisses and quite a number of laughs, the fireflies fluttering about the hill, the crystal glowing below them, that he confessed.

_“I love you.”_

That night, Mikta didn’t say it back. Deep down, Mikta knew that one day he would be pulled away back into the war against the Empire and feared he may never return. Instead, he just smiled and kissed G’raha hoping that his actions could speak louder than words. But that day came far too soon for that next morning G’raha had sealed himself away in the Tower leaving behind the ghost of his presence.

“This is my fault.” The Exarch’s words tear Mikta from memories he had locked away years ago. A thumb brushes over his cheek wiping away tears he hadn’t realized were falling. His throat felt too tight. His eyes stung. “I...in my attempt to save your life I instead had put you through even more torture. All I want- all I have _ever_ wanted was a future born out of your courage and the ancients’ wish. And yet a part of me had foolishly hoped I could stand by you and see that future beside you. I knew, from the moment I woke up, what my fate was to be, but if that meant I could not stand by your side...And because of that selfish wish, I had been blinded.”

“Stop…” Mikta’s voice wavers. He ducks his head and grips his tail tightly. 

“No.” His voice is firm but there is tenderness there. His hands cup Mikta’s face again and Mikta grasps his wrists. Not pushing away. Not pulling closer. Just holding, reassuring himself that he was _there._ “I have hurt you and it is about time I try to change that. Both now and back then. I...I was eager to learn about myself, about the Tower, about _you_ , and in that eagerness, I became blind to the things around me. To the emotions of the people around me. Back then I could not, however, say the things I had felt for you in my fear that perhaps you would not return them, but I am old now and with that age, I have learned to not care as much.” Despite the situation, Mikta finds himself smiling. “You are gorgeous, including every last ilm of you. Scar and all. Other warriors may appear like that, yes, but none of them have ever gone through as much pain as you and have come out the other side smiling. I knew exactly what I wanted just as I do now.”

“...and...what is that…?” Dubiously, Mikta lifts his gaze up to meet the Exarch’s eyes, searching his face for answers. “What is it that you want?”

“You.” The answer comes instantly. Not a hint of hesitation or fear. No games. No dancing around. The Exarch leans forward and kisses away a tear that had fallen. He kisses Mikta's temple, his brow, the tip of his nose. “All I have ever wanted…” His voice is but a whisper. “Was you.” Their tails curl together, the familiarity of it all drawing a sob from Mikta who clutches onto the Exarch’s tattered robes, their foreheads pressed together, a gentle thumb stroking over his cheek.

 _“I love you too, Raha.”_


End file.
